The Wistful Mirror
The commission was for a mirror, not a soul, but Elias Thorne knew the distinction had blurred years ago. He stood before the Great Hall of the Guild of Artisans, the air thick with the scent of hot coal and old varnish, holding a tray of glass shards that looked like frozen lightning. The High Warden, Kael, sat at the head of the long oak table, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference....
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